


On The Topic of Reestablishing Connections (That We Didn't Know Were Broken)

by Homicidal Whispers (HomicidalWhispers)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rimming, look at all these dirty tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomicidalWhispers/pseuds/Homicidal%20Whispers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes someone else's input for Eren to realize just how unhappy Armin is at training. He's lonely and afraid of being left behind. Eren devises a plan to show him he's appreciated. Eren doesn't know exactly what he expected the end result to be, but he can't say that he didn't see this coming</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Topic of Reestablishing Connections (That We Didn't Know Were Broken)

It isn’t their first training expedition outside of camp, but it is the most gruelling one by far. They are woken at the crack of dawn to set out, hiking over the mountains that set them apart from the nearby villages. Then they cross the flatlands, a trip that takes several hours and leaves them exposed to the elements. They reach the edge of the forest not too long before noon and duck into the cover of the trees to escape the sun pounding on the back of their necks. There is a break for a sparse lunch, and then they are jogging.

Eren settles into an easy lope near the front of the pack. He is careful not to push himself too hard or to run too fast. To his left is Jean. To his right is Mikasa, looking as bored as always. He feels irrationally annoyed by her presence. She could easily be at the forefront, so why would she force herself to slow down to keep pace with him? He doesn’t need a babysitter.

They complete their five-mile run when they reach Sergeant Shadis, who used his 3-D manoeuvre gear to go on ahead. Eren is fifth to reach him. He has improved in his four years of training. He slows to a walk before stopping completely, falling into a stretch to work his sore muscles. Then, at Mikasa’s urging, he sits. He drinks some water and towels off the accumulated sweat while he waits. The rest of the cadets arrive in steady swarms for the next few minutes until just a few are missing, their approach hidden by the curve in the path.

“Hey, Jaeger,” one of the other cadets yells. “Your groupie’s holding us back!”

Mikasa turns to look at the speaker, her gaze flat and threatening. He shuts up quickly. “Armin’s not my groupie,” Eren murmurs, too soft to be heard, his hands clenching into fists. Armin rounds the corner just then. His blond hair is plastered to his forehead by sweat and he is panting far too heavily, but he is on his feet and he is conscious. He has improved too. Sasha and Marco are next to him, keeping pace. Eren knows Armin resents that, just the way he resents Mikasa; it makes him feel more like a failure. The tightness in his eyes tells Eren that he’d heard the comment, but he doesn’t respond to it.

Eren swings to his feet, waiting for Armin to make the last few steps and recover his breath. He presses the bottle of water into Armin’s hands when he stands straight. He hesitates before drinking, his eyes flicking to the cadets and to the Sergeant, but when Shadis says nothing to stop him, he puts it to his lips and swallows.

Soon, Shadis separates them into groups to run trials with their manoeuvre gear. “Armin doesn’t seem very happy,” Mikasa says to him quietly. The words are almost lost in the sound of wind whipping past them. She isn’t one to open conversations normally, and he spends a moment considering if he should respond.

“He’s fine to me,” Eren says. Mikasa slipps her scarf further up her face, covering her mouth. She doesn’t speak again, but Eren feels distinctly chastised anyway. He looks over his shoulder, seeking out his friend. He is in a different group. As Eren watches, Armin swerves around a target, slashing blades at the nape of the dummy’s neck. One sword misses, the other does not cut deep enough. He retracts his grapple and tries again.

Mikasa’s words stay with him for the rest of the training session, and for quite some time more. He finds himself paying more attention to Armin. In doing so, he realizes how little time they spend together these days. They have none of their classes together - Armin lags far behind Eren in all of the physical courses and surpasses him greatly in tactical and theory ones. When they are separated into groups, they never end up together. They sit side by side during lunch, but Armin never speaks up or joins the conversation. He melts into the background.

These days, they are closest at night. Training camp allows each person to bring one personal belonging; Armin had brought his book about the outside world. Due to spatial restraints, there are several bunkbeds, with each bunk further separating two people by a divider. They sleep right next to each other and in the beginning, they would draw the divider apart and stay up far past lights out. They talked in whispers about the world outside of the walls, the flaming water and the frozen earth, reaffirming their own decision to join the Recon Corps. It was a way to remind themselves of why they put up with the agony that was training.

These days, there isn’t even that. They lay awake at night, looking at each other across the small gap, but they don’t speak. Sometimes Armin opens his mouth like there is something he wants to say, but the words never make it out. Eren never asks him about it later.

It occurrs to him that Armin is probably lonely. He rarely ever sees his two closest friends. He has a small group of friends - Connie, Sasha, and the others - that he hangs out with, but they don’t have much in common with him. The rest of the cadets look down on him. Eren isn’t particularly friendly with them, but at least they respect him. 

A few days later, Eren comes up with a plan. He needs Armin to see that he is still appreciated, even if they spend less time together. Knowing that Armin always stays back to talk to his teachers, Eren decides to wait outside of his tactics class for him to emerge.

“Eren!” Armin says as he exits and catches sight of him. He launches into a summary of his class when Eren prompts him to, his eyes shining the way they always do when he talks about something that interests him.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Eren interrupts him.

“This way’s the canteen,” he answers, confused, “and it’s lunch right now.”

“I’ve got other plans,” he replies, patting the bag at his waist. Armin nods slowly and turns the other way, adjusting his pace to match Eren’s. He leads them back to the bunker that the male trainees sleep in at night. In the middle of day, during lunch, it is empty, just as Eren had known it would be. There is little enough food available these days that no one will willingly skip lunch. Moreover, the time spent in the canteen is some of the only free time they get. Nobody will waste that time alone.

They climb up to their bunk and open up the bag. “I got Sasha to help me get some food,” he explains, drawing out several loaves of bread, salted meat, and water enough to share between the two of them.

“You stole this?”

“It’s the same thing we would have had if we actually went to lunch,” Eren reasons. Armin has already started to eat before he finished speaking. It is a time of war. Nobody bothers with morals anymore, not where food is concerned. They talk while they eat and it is just like before camp.

“This was nice. Any reason for it?” Armin asks when the food is done and the remains are put away.

Eren smiles. “Does there need to be?” He steels himself and crawls behind him. Stick to the plan, he reminds himself. Just stick to the plan.

When prompted, Armin bends his head, exposing the back of his neck submissively. Eren sweeps errant strands of hair away and lets his hand fall there. He swipes a thumb across the nape of his neck; if Armin were a Titan, he’d already be dead. Instead, he lowers his hand and kneads at the muscles there. As he works at loosening the knots, he names the muscles he touches. Armin starts when Eren digs into one spot mercilessly and then huffs out a little noise when he is done.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ve been pushing yourself harder than the rest of us since the beginning. You need some rest,” Eren informs him glibly. He fingers the material of Armin’s shirt. “Take this off. The rest, too.” Obediently, Armin begins removing the leather harnesses from his body.

Eren looksaway, uncommonly embarrassed, and turns back to the bag he’d brought. He pulls out an extra blanket and sets it on top of the one already on the bed. “It’s laundry day, so it was easy to get this, and it’ll be easy to put back.”

“Should I take this off too?” Armin asks. When Eren turns to look, he is lounging mostly naked, comfortable in his own skin and not trying to hide. He has no reason to try. They took baths together as kids. It’s nothing Eren hasn’t seen before. His fingers play idly at the waistband of his underwear.

“Yeah,” Eren says. His voice comes out weird, rougher than usual. He clears his throat and tries again. “You can if you want. It doesn’t matter.” He averts his eyes as Armin pulls it off. That, at least, is something he hadn’t seen in a while.

At Eren’s instructions, Armin lays face down on the extra blanket, his head turned to the side. Eren considers giving him a pillow, but discards the idea, reasoning that the elevation would only stress his recently relaxed muscles. For a moment, he considers the expanse of skin before him. From the side, it is too awkward to reach. Instead, he swings one leg to the other side of Armin’s body, settling with one knee straddled on either side of Armin’s slim hips. He hesitates to sit properly, but when he does Armin doesn’t complain at the weight.

He can easily get his hands where he needs them now. Eren expands outwards from his neck, trailing across to his shoulder blades, massaging with either hand. Armin spends a lot of time hunched over books and papers and it’s obvious in the tension here. He pushes his fingers in and soothes the aches.

“Wait, hang on, I’ve got --” Eren scrambles to the bag and comes back with a small bottle. He resettles astride the boy’s hips. “It’s just the oil for the leathers, but I figured its better than nothing.”

Armin doesn’t complain, so Eren pours the liquid into his fingers carefully, rubs his hands until it warms and lathers it over his back. He works his way steadily down, growing more confident and more bold in his touches. He keeps making murmuring noises, encouraging him with huffs of breath and subtle twitches.

Armin outright moans when Eren first touches his ass. He quickly pulls away, but Armin shakes his head. “No, it’s fine,” he says. “You surprised me.”

“Okay,” Eren says. He shifts so he’s still straddling his hips, but facing the other direction and gets a little more of the oil. Hesitancy isn’t like him, so he touches firmly and digs in. Armin jerks a little,surprised at the abruptness, but then holds himself obligingly still. Soon, though, his mouth falls open and the sounds come again, soft, but emboldening. Eren’s fingers slip into his crack, not entirely on purpose, but not exactly accidental either; he moans again and bucks forward. He does it once again just to see, brushing against his hole. The sound comes again louder. Eren moves on.

His moans die down somewhat as Eren works loose the muscles in his legs. His body is open and pliant, but Eren is atop him. He can’t hide the way he rocks forward in tiny little motions, or the way his hands clench at the sheet. He presses into the back of Armin’s knees and he gives a full-body shudder, his face turning to press into the sheet, but the sound is not concealed. Abruptly, Eren’s mouth goes very dry and he finishes hurriedly.

“Turn over,” Eren says.

For a long while, Armin doesn’t respond. Eren stays quiet, heart pounding with adrenaline, ready to take back and excuse his words. He almost does, but then Armin speaks. “You have to get off of me first.”

“Right.” Duh. That much should have been obvious. He shifts his weight so that he’s no longer sitting, but kneeling. Armin pushes his weight onto his hands and uses the leverage to flip over. Eren sits again, but freezes when the motion puts his ass right up against Armin’s cock. Sheepish, he edges forward to remove the contact. Through it all, Armin stares at him.

Eren breaks eye contact to fumble for the bottle again, stubbornly ignoring the heat in his face. Armin’s gaze is too intense and it makes him flustered. He rubs his hands together to warm the liquid and then spreads it down Armin’s arms, massaging the tenseness out of his biceps and deltoids, borne from an incorrect grip on his swords. He works his rotator cuff and his wrist briefly.

Armin stifles a laugh. “I’m ticklish there,” he explains. Eren grins and obligingly moves on.

He slathers the warm liquid along Eren’s chest, searching out sore spots. His nails catch on one nipple and Armin’s breath hitches. Intrigued despite himself, Eren does it again and again and then switches to the other until both are swollen and pink. “Eren,” Armin murmurs on an exhalation. Eren realizes that he has stopped massaging completely and has been doing little more than exploring with one hand and playing with the other.

He moves on. He passes over Armin’s dick completely, going instead for his feet. Armin groans and slumps back in frustration, a sound that Eren does his level best to ignore. He catches one of Armin’s feet, can’t help but admire it’s delicate arch, the point of his toes. Everything about Armin has always been like that - delicate, frail. Every part of him is a work of art.

Eren works his way back up. He admires Armin’s newfound musculature; the firmness of his calves and thighs that wasn’t there before their training. It wasn’t only there either; Eren has noticed it elsewhere, too. His entire body, while still lithe and slim, is corded with muscle where previously there had been none.

Eren skims his hands lightly up the inside of Armin’s thigh. He isn’t attempting to hide his movements anymore; he ruts unabashedly against Eren’s body. Eren eyes Armin’s dick where it rests full and hard against his stomach, only a little surprised to note that his own pants are tented in response. He doesn’t know when he got hard. Was it when he saw Armin’s? When he ravaged his chest? Even earlier, when he’d been given access to Armin’s ass and slipped his fingers into his crack?

Eren knows Armin can’thave missed his erection, not with Eren sitting on him. He doesn’t look intimidated or scared, though, just impatient. If Eren is honest with himself, he isn’t surprised either. His and Armin’s friendship has always been a bit too intense, too tactile, too codependent. What he has with Armin is nothing like what he has with Mikasa - there is nothing familial about it. He’d ignored it, but he had gone into this knowing where it would lead.

Armin takes the decision out of his hand. Calmly, he takes Eren’s hand in his own and guides it to his cock, encouraging him to stroke up and down, up and down. When Eren’s got the rhythm, Armin reaches up and unlatches his harness, start undoing his shirt buttons. He falters once, when Eren’s hand, slick from the remaining oil and Armin’s precome, twists over the head and slides into his slit. His eyes fog over slightly, he moans loudly, but then he’s back and Eren’s shirt is undone in the next instant.

His hands are flat on Eren's chest for a moment and then he reaches higher, curls his fingers into the dark hair at the nape of Eren’s neck and pulls him down. It’s Eren’s first real kiss. There’d been some childish pecks when he was younger, once or twice with Armin, even, but it was never like this. He’s fairly certain that Armin’s never kissed before either, but he isn’t tentative. There’s the press of lips, heat, tongues sliding into each other’s mouths. There’s a clang of teeth and they both withdraw, but then Eren grins and hauls him right back in. His hand has stopped, but when Armin moves, fucking into the circlet of his fingers, Eren resumes the movement. He adjusts the firmness and his grip until he finds the combination that makes Armin moan shamelessly into his mouth and leak relentlessly into his hand.

“Wait, wait,” Armin says, shoving at him. “Stop.”

Eren stops, but his eyebrows rocket upwards. “You want me to _stop_?”

“I want you to stop temporarily,” he amends. He pushes himself up until he’s sitting. His hair is rumpled in a way Eren’s never seen it before, not even after a restless night. The blue of his eyes are mere rings around his pupils, blown as they are in what Eren smugly recognizes as lust.

Armin pushes the shirt off his shoulders fully, shoves it off to the side somewhere, and then goes for the zipper of his pants. All thoughts of smugness are gone in an instant, along with every other rational thought when Armin’s hands sneak into his underwear. Armin, Eren has always thought, has amazing hands. He has the kind of hands that are nimble and expressive, that would look better healing wounds than wielding swords. It’s unfortunate that they grew up in Shigashina; if he had born behind Wall Sina amidst wealth and luxury, he would’ve had the time to learn an instrument. He would’ve been hailed as a prodigy, a phenomenon to be revered, Eren is sure.

As it is, Eren thinks Armin has some seriously phenomenal talent for working his dick. Armin guides his hips up and peels his pants off. Eren finishes the job and flings them away quickly, not caring where it lands. His underwear is gone too.

Armin laughs at his haste and guides Eren down to lay on top of him and kisses him again. The laugh quickly turns into a long sigh of pleasure when the action brings their dicks into contact. Eren puts one hand on Armin’s waist to steady him and the other on the bed so that he doesn’t suffocate and rocks forward. They moan and the next time he does it, Armin pushes back to meet him.

“Eren,” Armin says, his eyes slipping shut, his hand wrapping around both of their dicks as they rock together. Eren lets out a strangled sound, one that he can’t remember making before. “I hear you, you know. When you get off at night, only a few feet away from me. You try to keep silent so you won’t wake me, but I hear anyway.”

The hand that had been on his waist wanders, dropping down to wrap over Armin’s and then even lower, slipping over his balls and back behind. He presses idly at Armin’s hole, never breaching, but sliding back and forth. Eren’s head drops down to Armin’s neck and he presses biting kisses into the flush there. Armin sighs again, turning his head to bare more of his throat. “Hearing you made me excited,” he said. “I put my hands into my pants and thought about you. I covered my mouth, but each time, I hoped you would hear me. You never did.”

Eren pulls back, convinced that Armin, his voice, his body, and his touch, will drive him insane. He flips him over to his knees. Armin goes willingly, still boneless and relaxed from his full-body massage. His head presses into the bed, putting all his weight on his knees and leaving his ass up. Eren inhales sharply. His grip tightens on Armin’s hips and he surges forward, presses his face into Armin’s ass. He’s never seen something like this before, he doesn’t know if other people do it, but the urge is overwhelming.

He kisses at Armin’s hole the way he kissed his mouth; Armin makes a noise so loud he’s sure other people can hear. “Do it again,” Armin says, rocking back onto his face, trying to urge his tongue back where he wants it.

“I don’t want to get caught,” Eren answers. “We’ll get in trouble. They’ll split us up.”

“Do it _again_ ,” he demands and this time, Eren obeys. He pushes his face closer, lapping at his crack until saliva dribbles down his face. Armin’s moans get louder and louder until he’s nearly screaming, but he clamps one hand over his mouth and pushes his face into the bed to muffle the noise. There’s no real taste, only the thick slickness of the oil Eren had rubbed here earlier.

Armin raises his head. “I want you in me,” he says in no uncertain terms.

“Okay,” Eren says, his head swimming. “How - how do I?”

“Use your fingers first, at least two,” Armin instructs him. He thinks for a moment and then amends, “Maybe three.”

Eren nods, forgetting that Armin can’t see him right now. His mind is blissfully empty, his world narrowed to the parts of him that is touching Armin. He adds more of the oil to his fingers and returns, pausing when Armin flinches forward at the coldness of it. “Sorry,” he says and pulls back to wait for it to warm.

He watches, fascinated, as Armin’s body takes his fingers. The first is accepted easily, loose from his tongue and the massage, so the next time, he adds a second. “Is this good?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Armin says, rocking back onto his fingers idly. “Try curling your fingers up.” Eren does so and Armin swears. “Another.”

Eren adds another, pushing in until his wrists ache, reveling in the noises he is making. “Can I,” he starts falteringly. “Can I -”

“Yes,” Armin pants. “Yes, hurry up.”

Eren pours the remaining liquid onto his dick, jerking it once or twice. He is achingly hard, having forgotten about his own erection in his quest to give Armin pleasure. He arranges Armin onto his back, afraid to speak, afraid he’d say something stupid like “I want to see your face.” Armin looks at him like he knows what he is thinking, though. He bends his body, putting one leg on Eren’s shoulder and the other latches around Eren’s waist.

Eren pushes forward, entertaining thoughts about taking it slow and waiting for him to adjust, but there is none of that. Armin’s body accepts him easily, sucking him in greedily. Too soon, he’s all the way in, surrounded by tight heat. It’s better than he ever imagined.

Armin takes a deep breath and then another, his hands clutching Eren’s biceps. He pushes back onto Eren’s dick, encouraging him to move. He does, pulling out and thrusting back in. He groans and slumps over Armin's body. “I won’t break,” Armin reminds him.

So he fucks in hard, shaking the entire bunk with each snap of his hips forwards. Armin takes it. He’s getting loud again, and Eren leans down, contorting Armin’s body in half to capture his lips and blot out the noise. Armin bites viciously at his mouth and Eren’s hand shoves its way between their two bodies to his dick, jacking down every time he pulls out and up when he slams back in. He comes quickly.

It pains him to stop, but he knows that Armin will be too sensitive to continue. Instead, he pulls out and reaches for his cock, tugging at it too harshly in his haste. Armin watches for a moment, recovering, but then he pushes Eren’s hand away.

“Next time, I’ll have to hold off longer,” he says. “I want your come inside me.” Eren thinks he’s going to explode.

Armin licks at his cock, assessing the taste before going down with more enthusiasm. He opens his mouth wide and fits it over the head and he sucks with obscene slurping sounds. He tries to take more, his hand working at what he can’t reach. He’s unexperienced, but there’s heat, and there’s suction and it’s wet - this is more than enough. Armin’s tongue flicks inspiredly over his slit and Eren can’t hold his orgasm back any longer. He watches Armin’s throat as he tries to swallow it all, what he can’t dribbling over his lips.

“Sorry,” he says after and kisses the mess away. “I should’ve warned you.”

“I knew you were close,” he says. “The taste was interesting.”

Eren huffs out a laugh, wiping sweat from his forehead before gathering Armin into his arms. His mind is empty in a way it hasn’t been in years, and he feels carefree.

He is nearly asleep when Armin sits straight up, disrupting him. “Oh no,” he says. “Lunch ended a while ago, we should be in class.”

“What?”

“Lessons!” Armin repeats. “Quickly, before they send someone after us.”

The door slams open and Jean enters. He spots them quickly and whatever he’s about to say dies quickly on his tongue. There’s no denying what happened, not when they’re both still naked and covered in drying ejaculate. “But - Mikasa,” he says feebly. “You two -”

He gives up speech and just stares. Reiner steps into the room next. He sees Eren’s pants where they’d landed on the floor in his rush and his gaze travels slowly up. “I see,” he says. And then he leaves, dragging Jean with him.

“We should get dressed,” Armin says. Eren sighs, tries to shake the lethargy from his mind. He pulls Armin close, licks his way into his mouth and tongue fucks him until his eyes are crossed and he’s lost that intelligent gleam in his blue eyes. He lets his forehead rest against Armin’s in a way that’s more tender than he intends.

Then, he climbs down to retrieve his pants and tries to be excited about his next class. At the very least, he can look forward to tonight; he keeps his mind occupied for the rest of the day with thoughts of how to muffle Armin’s voice enough that they won’t be overheard when everyone else is asleep. If his performance suffers the rest of the day? Well, the secret smile Armin gives him later is more than enough to make up for it.

**Author's Note:**

> One day, I will write a PWP that contains no plot and no character development. That day is not today.  
> Disclaimer, this was written in one shot in one night while I was on very little sleep. If you find any errors, I'll be glad to fix them.


End file.
